


A portrait in Firenze

by selfwrittenstars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Art, Firenze - Freeform, Fluff, Fluffy, Italy, Love at First Sight, M/M, One Shot, Painting, Romance, Short One Shot, Vacation, artist, larry stylinson - Freeform, one direction - Freeform, tourist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 03:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfwrittenstars/pseuds/selfwrittenstars
Summary: The one where Harry is on vacation in Italy with his family and Louis is a Street artist.





	A portrait in Firenze

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I know I said I was working on a long angsty project, which I still am, but life is chaotic and busy. So, while I try my best to finish that work, I bring you this drama-free one-shot that started when I was on holidays, walking around Firenze in Italy. There was a man painting a little girl's portrait, kindly trying to make her smile. It was the bliss in her laugh that inspired me to turn that moment into a fluffy love-at-first-sight story. I'm not a big believer of that, but I guess the happiness of others brings out the tiny romantic bits somewhere within me. Thank you so much for reading, and enjoy! All comments, as long as they are respectful, are very welcome. Feedback always make me happy. Thank you again!

**Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. None of the scenes in the story have been proven to have happened in real life. Please don't share this work with any of the people mentioned in it, as it is only meant for the fandom to enjoy.**

The slapping noise of a fan breaks through the busy streets of Firenze. As could be expected from a Saturday afternoon in Italy, mid-July, the sun has been shining furiously all day, tourists unable to find shelter from it, even in the shadow. Some time near lunch, Anne had stopped at a little shop and bought a bright red wooden fan, which now moves even more rapidly. As if on cue, Anne stops and turns to face his children. “I think Robin and I are gonna head back to the hotel. We still have tomorrow to enjoy this city a little more, but I best get some rest if I want to be able to walk tomorrow”.

Harry has better heat tolerance, but his legs are constantly reminding him of the exhaustion of an entire day of walking under the sun. “That’s probably a good idea mom, the pool is still open right?”. Soaking in fresh water would be the best price he can think of, after two hours of queuing to see the Duomo from inside.

But before he can even consider retreating as well, Gemma’s arm is pulling him backwards. “You don’t believe I’m going to let you leave, do you? The night is young little brother!”

“It’s not even night-time yet, Gems” Harry complains.

“Exactly, Firenze has a lot more to offer. Come on, we’ll meet you at the hotel later”. With that, Gemma waves her hand and quickly whisks her brother away, parents not longer in sight. Harry follows her, perfectly aware that there is no point in fighting, he doesn’t know of anyone more stubborn than her sister. “We’re in Italy Haz, you don’t know if we’ll ever come back here, specially together. You need to loosen up a little”

“We’ve been on vacation for two weeks! I’m extremely relaxed, thank you very much. My feet, though, they’re not so happy to keep on walking”, Harry pouts, like he always does when he pretends to argue with Gemma, with no intention of winning the debate, obviously.

“I can think of many things to do that don’t involve standing up, but do involve some of the incredibly beautiful people here” Gemma grins as she extends her arms and spins around.

“Oh, so that’s your secret agenda then, you want me to have a one-night stand to relax?”

“I never said that, but you could use some social interaction, you know? Meeting new people is always refreshing” she nudges him playfully. “Please stay”.

Harry looks around, already feeling the stunning architecture and chipper ambience pulling him. “Okay, but I’m not staying for you to play wingwoman. I just want to enjoy the view now that the temperature has gone down, and promise me we’ll be back when it gets dark, I’m spent”.

“Sure, if you say so… Don’t worry, I’ll slow down my pace for your giraffe legs to catch up, I can see you wincing because of your knees” Gemma acknowledges.

 

Two minutes in, Harry can already tell that he made the right decision, even if he’ll never admit that to Gemma. The sun is a couple of hours away from setting, painting the streets in a soft orange colour without being too suffocating. The stone walls of the buildings have started to emanate the warmth they’ve collected during the day, creating something like a fuzzy blanket surrounding the tourists. The stores are no longer as crowded, most people having left for the hotels, to freshen up before going out at night, probably. Two kids run past them, trying to convince their parents to buy them a magnet that says “Firenze” in purple glitter.

It’s moments like these that Harry remembers most when he comes home from a trip. Sure, the monuments and museums can be quite impressive, he even saw Michelangelo’s “David” today, but the best part of travelling is witnessing the different cultures in the world. There’s something special about observing places like an outsider, and realizing that people know them like the palms of their hands, that people call them home. Looking around and seeing the eyes full of bliss of people escaping busy and complicated lives, much like his own, gives him a sense of freedom that is inexplicable. In the streets of Firenze, he isn’t Harry anymore, he is just another one of the millions of people that visit it every year, another passing event that no one thinks about. One might consider that this nihilistic point of view can be quite depressing, but it feels liberating to him, knowing that nobody expects anything from him, and nobody will come calling for him. In Firenze he can simply be. Work has kept him incredibly busy for the past couple of years, and he doesn’t want to let go of this feeling just yet.

They walk past a woman that sells delicious-looking fruit bowls, and several musicians that play classic songs on acoustic guitars. They also spot a crowd circling around a little girl who has started to dance to the sound of the violin, as well as a shop of homemade sandals. Harry always wonders what the lives of these people are like, once they leave the streets and return home. Everyone in this picturesque ambience has another layer to their life that he will never get to know. Harry has his eyes on a particularly colourful balcony of flowers and a cheerful man who’s watering them when, suddenly, Gemma takes his hand and stops him on the side. “Harry, you need to get one of those!”

He follows her finger to a corner of the street, where several paintings lay on the floor next to a canvas. They seem to be portraits of people’s faces, drawn with a lot of detail, drying in the sun. A young man, earlier hidden behind the canvas, appears next to it and crouches down to grab one of the paintings, which he extends towards a little girl that jumps up and down from excitement. “A portrait? Why? It’s gonna take very long, Gems”

“So? We’re not in a hurry, follow me”. Gemma approaches said man, who seems busy reorganizing his tubes of paint and brushes, and coughs to gain his attention.

“Hi” the man says with a silky voice, and looks up. “Oh, I thought you were coming to pick up your painting, but I don’t remember your faces”. He runs his left hand through his fringe, staining it with red “I was about to gather my things…”

“Oh, is it too late? My brother here really wanted a portrait. We walked by earlier, and he kept insisting on coming back because he thinks you’re tremendously talented. Isn’t he?” Gemma gives Harry a little push, completely embarrassing with that white lie. He’s too spent to fight, though.

“I- um, hi” he waves awkwardly.

The artist looks at him with curious eyes, and seems to change his mind. If Harry’s tired mind doesn’t betray him, the man checks his wrist for a watch he doesn’t have, and then responds. “I think I have enough time for one more. Please sit down in that chair over there”.

Harry does as he is told, still unclear as to why he’s even listening to Gemma when he could be splashing around in the hotel swimming pool. As the man takes a blank canvas and sets everything up, Gemma poses one last question. “How long do you reckon this will take?”

“I guess, a little over an hour? I can’t tell you for sure, I’m afraid”.

“Oh that’s actually great. I wanted to buy mom a bracelet. I’ll be around, find me when you’re done, Haz”. And with that, Harry is left to wonder how he has ended up alone in front of a stranger, about to pose for a painting.

The man takes him out of his thoughts with that silky voice again. “The sun is a bit low now, I hope it doesn’t bother you, but I need good lighting for this”

“Oh, it’s not too bad don’t worry”

“I noticed that you have light eyes, so you can always close them if you want, as long as you don’t squint too hard. I’ll tell you when I need you to open them”

“No, it’s alright, seriously. So um, what do I have to do?” Harry asks, hoping that the experience won’t be too uncomfortable.

“Well, I’m the one doing all the work, so you should probably just stay still. And no talking please”

“Alright” Harry crosses one leg on top of the other and tries to find a posture that doesn’t hurt his back.

The man looks amused. “I’m totally kidding, you can talk if you want, but I can’t promise I’ll answer every time, I tend to get very concentrated”

Great, he embarrassed himself again. “I totally fell for that, it’s my first time getting a portrait, so I don’t really know what to expect”.

“I’m guessing everything your sister said earlier wasn’t true?”

“It wasn’t, no” Harry looks down shyly.

“So you don’t think I’m talented?”

Fuck. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant. Your portraits truly do look amazing, I mean it. I was just very tired, but my sister doesn’t seem to take no for an answer”. Harry can feel his cheeks turning red, hopefully the slight sunburn from earlier covers it.

“Relax, I’m kidding! I’ll try not to bore you, though, we don’t want you falling asleep here”

“I was gonna ask if this was your first time too, which makes no sense. But have you been doing this for a while?”

“Drawing? My entire life. Doing portraits for people? Not really, I’m only here for the summer. I needed a little bit of distance from my boring ol’ live, you know?”

“Same here, except I only have the luxury of two weeks of travelling. I can’t actually complain, though, other people don’t get this much. So you’re not from around here? I noticed your accent earlier, which means that you’re either an Italian with a burning passion for English TV, or you’re an outsider like me”

“Are you kidding? English TV isn’t even that good!” he chuckles. “I am from England, yeah, but an English pal with a burning passion for Italy and its art, if you may”

“And now you’re contributing to the Italian art”. That’s when Harry realizes that with all the chatting, the man hasn’t even picked up a brush yet. “Anyway, I should let you get started, you probably have somewhere to be and I’ve wasted enough of your time already”

The man doesn’t respond, but instead starts to mix some tubes of paint to form several shades of brown. “I’m Louis, by the way” is all he says before he concentrates like he warned earlier.

At first, Harry focuses all of his remaining energy on staying still, which proves to be difficult with Louis looking at his face closely. He works through every mark, and every irregularity in his structure, picking new colours and cleaning the brushes over and over again. Sometimes he uses a big brush with slow, carefully thought strokes. Other times he takes a slim brush and lets his hands perfect the details with fast and short strokes. Obviously, Harry can’t see what the man is painting, but from watching him work, he can guess that every dot of paint has been located in its place with patience and artistry.

However, somewhere in the process, Harry finds himself reversing their roles and painting Louis in his head. Maybe because he truly gets close to his face sometimes, or maybe because there’s something about Louis that spikes curiosity within him, all he can do is map all of the corners of his face in his mind.

He starts with the caramel hair, which shines in different colours under the light, most likely stained with paint throughout the day. Harry can’t help but notice that it’s so sloppily cut that it curls only behind his left ear, and almost obscures his eyes from view. The eyes are bright blue, almost like they describe them in every romance-centred book he’s ever read, but that’s not nearly the most captivating thing about them. What Harry wants to ingrain in his mind is how those eyes stay locked with his most of the time, so intensely that it seems like Louis is painting without ever glancing at the canvas. It’s like they’re hungry for every little stimulus, like they process everything that’s happening around them, passing on the information to his muscles. It’s fascinating, really. They’re framed by incredibly long and curled eyelashes that almost never blink, proof of his focus. It’s when Harry is admiring the sharp cheekbones that Louis wakes him up from what feels like a dream.

Harry feels quick and slender fingers combing through his own curls, placing them right over his shoulder. “Sorry, you moved your head for a second and I had already started to paint your hair”

“Oh, no worries” Louis smiles at that, bringing Harry’s attention to his pink slim lips. Harry has noticed that he bites them when he’s concentrated, which is probably the reason why they look so plump.

Before he can finish his mental picture of Louis, those lips move again. “We’re all set here. Are you ready to see it?”

“Already? Wow, it honestly felt like 5 minutes. Sure, I’d love to see it” Harry shakes his head, partly to relieve his muscles from the stiffness of staying still, and partly to come back to reality.

“I’m pretty sure you fell asleep for a minute there, it’s almost dry now” Louis laughs and turns the canvas towards Harry. “What do you think, is it close enough?”

When Harry takes a glance, he is shocked to find that the portrait almost looks like a photo of him. He is sure he’ll spend a long time checking every little stroke, every splash of colour, but it’s Louis that he has his eye on at the moment. It’s now when he understands why Gemma had insisted so much on him getting the painting.

“It looks amazing, turns out you truly are an artist” Harry teases. He reaches for his left pocket to take out some cash, and touches a folded paper at the bottom that he doesn’t recognise at first. Unless…

 

_“I have a present for you Haz” Gemma barged into his room while he was packing his suitcase. She had come to his apartment to drive them both to the airport where they’d meet their parents._

_“A present? How come?”_

_“I didn’t buy you anything, if that’s what you’re wondering. But, since we’re going on an exotic trip…”_

_“_ _I wouldn’t necessarily describe Italy as exotic, but whatever you say”_

_“_ _Since we’re going on an exotic trip, I thought that it could be an amazing opportunity for you to have fun and maybe meet someone. Cause you and I will be tourists during the day, but we’re going out at night.”_

_“I don’t recall agreeing to that, and I’m not sure where you’re taking this, but continue” Harry stopped packing to sit on his bed, already having a hunch of what the whole thing was about._

_“I made you these, in case you need them” Gemma handed him a little envelope._

_Harry opened them with curiosity, and found some folded pieces of paper inside. “What is this? Wait, this is my phone number. I don’t understand”_

_“Exactly, this way you don’t have to stop and ask people to go out with you, cause that can be awkward. You can simply give them a piece of paper with your number and walk away, hope that they call”._

_“Gemma!”_

_“You don’t have to use them, but you’re taking them with you” she proceeded to unfold every pair of trousers in the suitcase and put a piece of paper in each of them, undoing all of Harry’s earlier work._

 

_You don’t have to use them._ Harry remembers those words, and how crazy the idea had seemed to him in the moment. But now, imagining that he might never see Louis again, he feels a rush of bravery growing inside him. It’d be very bittersweet to look at the portrait every morning and wonder what the blue-eyed man was up to.

Harry looks around for a sign that states the price, and in an impulse of boldness, takes some euro bills and one of the folded papers and crumples them in a closed fist. Nervously, and almost not believing what he is doing, he takes two careful steps forward and puts them in Louis’ front pocket. Excited, but ready to flee the scene in case it goes very wrong, Harry takes the now fully dry portrait and catches it under his arm, holding on tight to it. Before Louis can look at the papers or even say anything, Harry gifts him with a big smile, and chirps a “call me” for a goodbye.

As he struts away to look for Gemma, he finds himself hoping that her sister was right all along, and that whenever he looks at the painting back at home, he can reminisce the moment when the talented street artist from Firenze called him on the phone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it all the way here, thank you so much for reading! I'd love some feedback :)
> 
> To contact me outside the comments, here is my social media:  
> Instagram: @alternative.au.fn  
> Tumblr: @selfwrittenstars


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